The Start of the Fifteen Years
by Tricia Wall
Summary: For fifteen years - and counting - Yuma has been writing all sorts of letters to you, even though you're no longer around to get them. However, during your final minutes, you were given a chance to read the first...  VY2xReader


If anyone knew what true love was, it was you.

You've only known him for some time, but you've begun a friendship with Yuma. He always seemed shy when he talked to you, but you thought that was just his personality. Nevertheless, he was you best friend.

"You... want me to write you a poem?" Yuma seemed a little stumbled by this, but you kept a smile on my face.  
>"Of course!" you answered. "I've seen you write them in class."<br>"But I... I don't have any inspiration..." he stuttered.  
>Puffing a cheek out, you said, "You mean I'm not inspiration enough?"<br>"W-what?" Yuma said as his eyes widened. "That's not what I meant!"  
>"It sure sounded like it," you stated, continuing to pester him.<br>"Quit putting words in my mouth!" he demanded as his face became the same shade of pink as his hair. You laughed at his defense, making him blush some more. "Alright..." he muttered. He said something else as well, but the wind carried the sound of his voice away, so you couldn't pick it up.  
>"What did you say?" you asked.<br>Instead, Yuma shook his head, standing up as he said, "Come on, or we'll be late for class." You jumped onto your feet and ran ahead of him, giving a glance that indicated a challenge. Yuma merely glared back as a response, not having a need to run. Sighing, you walked back to him, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him into a sprint.

You made it on time. If it hadn't been for your "motivation", you and Yuma may have endured a lecture from the teacher about being tardy. Ten minutes into class, you were taking notes on the current subject before looking over to your right. Yuma was writing, but he seemed to be having a difficult time with what to put on the paper. Looking down at the paper, you noticed that the words in the forms of stanzas. Was he actually working on your poem...?  
>Yuma peered over at you for a quick second before turning his back to you, keeping the paper hidden. So, he really was writing the poem for you. Looking back down at your own paper, you couldn't help but smile.<p>

At the end of class, you waited right outside the door for Yuma, but you soon realized that the teacher was talking to him. Looking over at you, he gave you a wave to go on ahead. Nodding, you went ahead and ventured to the hill on campus.  
>The hill was the place that you and Yuma spent most of your time together at. You had lunch there; You did homework there; You talk about everything there. It was there that Yuma was going to give you his poem, and the mere thought gave you butterflies in your stomach.<br>Reaching outside, your eyes met the hill. All you had to do was wait there for Yuma, then you could read your poem. The thought enticed you even more. Why did you blush over this? He worked on a poem that you somewhat threatened him to work on. Perhaps you secretly hoped that he could sing the poem to you...?  
>Unfortunately, you couldn't think anymore about it as a car horn went off. Looking up, you didn't have time to react as a car crashed into you. Your body launced into the air before crashing back down on the hard ground. Your entire body went numb, and you were unable to move. A crowd circled around you, but you couldn't see them as your vision went blurry. Within seconds, you passed out.<p>

Waking up, the first thing that you noticed were the white walls. The light reflecting off the walls made you cringe, forcing your eyes back closed. Opening them again, you took in your surroundings a bit more. Your arm and leg were in a cast. You wore a neck brace, and a bandage was wrapped around your head. You also saw needles in your naked arm, and an oxygen mask over your face.  
>A humming sound came from your left, so you looked over with just your eyes. There was a machine with a screen that depicted a green line beeping once in awhile. It depicted your heart beats, and they were at a slow, irregular pattern.<p>

It was inevitable. You were dying.

Before accepting that, you saw something else on your side table. There sat a stack of four envelopes. The top one was being held closed by a pink heart sticker. Were these get well letters? There weren't any balloons or flowers around.  
>Curiosity got the best of you. Using your free hand, you tried with all your will to reach one envelope. A couple inches of air was what kept you from it, so went through other means and pulled the entire table towards you, despite the pain. Finally, you grabbed ahold of the envelope.<br>Opening it, you pulled a piece of paper out, which read:

_I'm sorry. If I had stayed with you, that car wouldn't have hit you. If anything, I would have protected you. It makes me feel so guilty. I would never want you to get hurt._

_I've always worried that I was being clingy, but you've never minded that. Your opportunist ways inspire me. I'm always secluded, keeping to myself, but it was your happy-go-lucky attitude that allowed us to meet._

_I've liked you as a friend, at first, but the more that we've been together - the more that you've smiled - my feelings have deepened into something that I never believed I would have._

_I love you. That is my inspiration._

_I tried to write your poem for you, but I couldn't come up with anything to describe how I feel. I promise you, not matter how long it takes, I will write a poem that will keep that smile of yours on your face forever._

_Please recover soon._

_-Yuma_

As the tears coated your face, his name was the last thing that you've seen.


End file.
